


House of Broken Dreams

by stay_scolder



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Curses, Drinking, I'm not sure what this story will turn into, M/M, Smoking, Violence, characters are assholes but I love them, human!AU, men don't fight they talk with their fists, school!au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-09
Updated: 2020-07-09
Packaged: 2021-03-04 19:21:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,402
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25171531
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stay_scolder/pseuds/stay_scolder
Summary: If someone have told him earlier that everything would be exactly like this, he would have actively resisted his move to a boarding school. He would cling to the door jambs with his hands, bite, scream, fight back using suitcases. He would have done anything to avoid being here.
Relationships: Upgraded Connor | RK900/Gavin Reed
Kudos: 2





	House of Broken Dreams

Silence. An oppressive, humming, unnatural silence, as after a past storm, which takes all the sounds with it, leaving a void.  
It was too quiet. If Gavin hadn't heard the water dripping from the tap, he would have thought the world was dead.  
Gavin Reed was lying on the dirty tile floor of a filthy toilet. Knees was drawn up to his chin, arms wrapped around his stomach. He listened to the uneven rhythm of receding footsteps. Four pairs of heavy boots marched down the corridor.  
Only when the sound of footsteps had gone, Gavin allow himself to whimper softly. Not because of the pain — he was getting used to it — but because of frustration.  
He wanted to console himself by saying that at least this time he had managed to hit someone — he didn't know exactly who it was — but it was just one hit, more an accident than a progress, and he had to pay for it with a few whacks of a heavy boot in the stomach. So-so victory, to be honest.  
He struggled to his feet. It was hard to breathe. Every movement sent a sharp pain through his left side. Instinctively, he crossed his arms and pressed his hands against his ribs to ease the pain. It didn't get any easier.  
Gavin grimaced and limped toward the sinks. He felt like a rag that had collected all the dirt of dusty corners. He wanted to wash his face.  
He went to the second sink on the right. The journey seemed infinitely long. The last couple of steps were particularly difficult.  
Gavin leaned against the sink, clutching at it with his fingers, and gasped for air through his mouth. A sharp pain shot through his left side. He bent over, almost dipping his head into the sink.  
If someone have told him earlier that everything would be exactly like this, he would have actively resisted his move to a boarding school. He would cling to the door jambs with his hands, bite, scream, fight back using suitcases. He would have done anything to avoid being here.  
For a long time, teachers, the headmaster, and even his own parents threatened to send Gavin here. They were infected with the idea that he was a difficult teenager. They did not try to find the reason for his bad behavior, nor did they try to help. They said if he continued to behave like this, they would send him here. As if that threat could make him change.  
Maybe they didn't even try to fix him. For them, getting rid of him was the only good solution. They just got tired and gave up.  
Gavin never took their threats seriously. What is so terrible about a boarding school for difficult teenagers? He pictured it as a camp where a couple of hundred children in identical gray uniforms marched in formation, while teachers stood along the walls watching them and sometimes shouted something in German. Gavin had always associated strict discipline with fascism. So when they told him to pack his bags, he was more worried about being locked in a cage, and it didn't matter who they locked him with. He thought that with the same poor guys as he was, but he was wrong. He was thrown into a cage with wild animals.  
There was no discipline here that Gavin hated. Here was only freedom, unencumbered by the laws of the civilized world and the norms of morality. Here was chaos, which gave birth to its own system.  
Gavin raised his head and looked at his reflection in the dirty mirror. He was looking at a very unpleasant person, in whom he hardly recognized himself.  
The right side began to lose its original shape. Plum-colored spots appeared on it, making the face look very unnatural. His split lower lip was swollen. His black eye couldn't see very well. Fortunately, the left side, except for a scratch on the cheek, was still intact.  
Gavin leaned forward to see the scratch on his left cheek. Looking closer, he realized it was a cut. Gavin didn't remember how he got it. It looks like one of the four had a blade or knife. If so, Gavin was lucky. An inch higher and he would have lost an eye.  
Someone had told Gavin — he couldn't remember who had said it, he didn't know all of them at the time — that newcomers were being kicked for the first month or a month and a half. They don't like outsiders here. They all look wrong, behave wrong, and even smell special — like home. Like a place that the boarders don't have. This smell and some unusual effeminacy drive them into a frenzy. They pounce on newcomers and beat them until they beat out all this outsideness with its home smell.  
Gavin was not the only newcomer, there were two or three others, but they were left alone after a couple of weeks, and he was being hunted for the third month. Gavin couldn't figure out why.  
He looked at his reflection again and winced. He had the feeling that he was looking in a distorting mirror, too unnatural and grotesque was the person who looked at him from it. Gavin was disgusted with him.  
A bloated freak, a coward, and a mumbler stared at him. The worst type. Only the plump, rosy-cheeked house boy that everyone thought Gavin was could be nastier.  
He spat into the sink contemptuously. It was strange to think of himself as a pampered house boy. All his life, people around him tried to convince him that he was a bully and a difficult child. He even believed it. He believed it until he got here.  
The boarders were not just “difficult” children, but real savages who tried to erase all memories of the civilization that existed outside the boarding school. Gavin didn't know how much longer he could last with them. He no longer believed that he would be left alone, so he just wondered what would happen faster: he would be killed or he would not be able to stand it and kill himself.  
He let out a short breath and quickly turned on the water with a trembling hand. He wanted to wash his face to bring himself to his senses, but he didn't have time. His throat began to burn, and his eyes began to water.  
He was hurt to tears by the unfairness of what was happening. What did he do to these four? Why is he being treated like this?  
Gavin hated himself for being helpless, for not being able to fight back. Tears choked him. He had never cried before, but now he was overcome by this terrible feeling. He held on too long. He couldn't do it anymore.  
Perhaps he really is a pampered house boy if he crying like a baby after a couple of punches. It was a shame to realize that he wasn't as strong as he wanted to be. And as long as he doesn't stop winding snot on his fist, as long as he doesn't scrape out the remnants of his outsideness and all these signs of a home boy, he won't be left alone. Or maybe not. The reality was much more cruel than his pitiful hopes.  
Gavin was choking on his own tears, gasping for air, shuddering with pain at every breath. He wanted to scream in frustration, he wanted to smash mirrors that reflected a crooked freak, a nasty crybaby, but not Gavin Reed.  
He hated this place. Every room, every dusty corner. He hated walls and floors, he hated windows and doors. He hated everyone who lived here, each and all of them. He was sick of this place, and sick of himself. And the only thought that was beating now in his inflamed mind was to run. He must escape from this cage. It doesn't matter how. He just knew he couldn't stand another day here.  
“Fuck it,” Gavin shouted, slamming his hand against the edge of the sink. A dull pain shot through his palm.  
Gavin hissed incoherent curses between his teeth and rubbed a finger over his bruised palm. This place hated him for some reason, but he couldn't figure out why. And even if he had asked, no one would have answered him.  
He put his hand under the cold water, hoping it would help in some way, and did not even notice that the door of the first toilet stall — “not working” was written on it — creaked slowly open. Gavin belatedly glanced at the mirror and then looked away, but a second later he was staring back in the mirror, into the sticky gloom of the stall. Two interested blue eyes stared at him from the dark.  
Gavin was terrified. The ugly yellow light of the lamps revealed the hateful face of someone he knew well.  
“He was here?” he thought in panic. Four pairs of boots clattered down the hall. He remembered. He counted. Was he wrong?  
Gavin turned his head slowly. He didn't like looking in the mirror. It reflected everything wrong. He hoped that when he turned around, he would see only an empty stall behind him, but it wasn't empty.  
The guy was sitting on the toilet, sprawled out as if in a chair, rolling a cigarette between his fingers. His blue eyes were steady, unblinking. He looked at Gavin with interest.  
“So you're the new boy, right?” the guy's thin lips stretched into a grin.  
Not Connor, Gavin thought. The eyes and voice were different. But it didn't make him feel any better. He realized that he had not been alone in the empty toilet all this time.  
It felt like someone had treacherously invaded his privacy, destroyed an intimate moment of self-pity. It was unforgivable. It was like trampling on the most valuable thing Gavin had with dirty shoes and spitting into his soul. This outraged him. Although it turned out that it was his fault. And how stupid it was! He didn't think to check the only locked stall. What for? It was always locked. He was used to it.  
In front of him sat the graduate — Richard was his name Gavin guessed — one of the celestials, so like his brother, he was three years older than Gavin.  
Everyone here (especially the younger ones) treated the graduates in a special way. The youngers looked at them with awe and admiration, and choked with dreams they would become such graduates one day. If the olders were allowed everything, the graduates were allowed absolutely everything. And everyone who lived here for at least a month aspired to this cherished permissiveness.  
The graduates were real stars whose lives youngers liked to discuss. But most of all they loved the twins. The people here had a special love for them. They talked mostly about Connor, though. He gave them more reasons to do so, and somehow people forgot that he still had a brother.  
Gavin didn't care. He didn't even understand what the boarders saw in these two, but then he looked closer and realized: they really were different.  
Most of the kids who went to this boarding school were either wild animals or from dysfunctional families, which was sometimes the same thing. Skinny and frail, pimply, wild, disheveled and unkempt, they looked pathetic in contrast to two tall, well-built twins with very pretty faces, which was a rarity here. No matter how hard Connor tried to blend in by dressing up as a punk and playing the savage, he couldn't hide the obvious signs of well-being that his brother didn't even try to hide.  
“You got beat up pretty bad, mate,” the guy chuckled. “I wonder why?”  
Gavin clenched his teeth. He, also, was wondering why, but there was no time to ask. But maybe-Richard had a lot of it, he could at least out of boredom ask his brother why he does it.  
Instead, he sat here all this time, listening to Gavin get beat up, and did nothing. He didn't even think it necessary to interfere. One word — just one fucking word — and he could have stopped Connor, but he didn't.  
Anger bubbled in Gavin's chest. He was so irritated by the silence and inactivity of the boarders. Not just probably-Richard, everyone here was like that. They lowered their heads, turned away, and pretended that nothing was happening.  
For three long months, Gavin had been systematically beaten. For three months, he walked around covered in space-colored spots, with black eyes, and lied clumsily about getting tangled in a curtain and falling out of a window. For three fucking months, everyone here knew what was going on, but not one of the bastards thought to step in and stop it.  
He could not lie, he could say directly that he was being beaten, but he knew perfectly well that neither the teachers nor the mentors would do anything about it. They were as afraid of the olders as Gavin was. Maybe even more, because they knew what these scumbags were capable of. Gavin could only guess. And he decided that silence was better than being a snitch.  
“You're not much of a talker, are you, boy?”  
Gavin sniffed. “None of your business,” he muttered, wiping his wet face with the sleeve of his sweatshirt. “If you decide to stay out of it, then stay out.”  
He immediately turned away, afraid of his own boldness.  
“Cheeky,” the guy winced. “And I naively thought that you needed help.”  
“Where were you earlier?” Gavin muttered under his breath and leaned over the sink. He hoped that over the noise of the water his words had not been heard.  
"So you don't need help?”  
A lighter flickered. Gavin froze, thinking for a moment, and then, as if afraid of his own weakness, splashed cold water on his face.  
“I'll be fine without it,” he snorted, glancing boldly in the mirror.  
For a brief moment, Gavin met the piercing blue eyes and immediately leaned back toward the sink.  
"So that's it...”  
A tired sigh echoed through the empty toilet, drowning out the noise of the water.  
Gavin lay low. The pause startled him. He hastily turned off the tap, knowing that he had to get out of here before he found a new enemy, but it was too late.  
He heard an unpleasant pop behind him. The stall door closed.  
Gavin froze like a stone statue, not daring to look up. The heels of the highly polished shoes thudded on the tiled floor, echoing in his ears with the ragged rhythm of his heart. In a desperate attempt to maintain his composure, Gavin brought a trembling hand to his face and wiped the water from his chin with the sleeve of his sweatshirt.  
“Brave, huh?” the guy leaned against the sink and daintily flicked ash into it. “Why weren't you so brave with him?”  
Gavin pursed his lips.  
He stood like a naughty first-grader before a formidable teacher. Hands at the sides, head down, eyes on the floor. All boldness that had stirred in him a moment ago vanished in an instant.  
“I get it,” maybe-not-Richard breathed in disappointment.  
“Get what?” Gavin asked hoarsely. His voice was too low, and he was afraid that his question would not be heard. He didn't have the strength to repeat it.  
“You will be beaten,” the guy explained calmly. “As long as you let them beat you, they will beat you.”  
“I don't remember giving them permission...”  
“Oh, shit,” the twin said, a tone louder and less gentle. “He beats you because he can. Because he knows you won't fight back. Try to fight back at least once, maybe something will change...”  
He took a drag on his cigarette and blew smoke at the ceiling. The smell of his cigarettes was not as pungent as the others', and it smelled like vanilla.  
Gavin grimaced. It wasn't easy to punch Connor in the face. Gavin would have tried to fight him one-on-one, but the dishonest bastard was always hanging around with his sycophant hyenas and never attacked alone. And it's not easy to deal with three or four people when they hit you out of control.  
“You're afraid of him,” the guy nodded, giving Gavin an appraising look with icy eyes. “Of course, this idiot has a mess in his head, you never know what to expect from him. You're all afraid of him, and that's all he needs. He feeds on your fear. Understand?”  
“No,” Gavin said honestly.  
The guy sighed.  
"It's fun to chase antelopes because they run away.”  
Gavin frowned. In this simple metaphor, for some reason, he tried to find a deep hidden meaning, but it was not there.  
“Stop being afraid and running away” the guy said, giving Gavin a friendly tap on the shoulder, “and you'll immediately become uninteresting.”  
“Is it that easy?” Reed found the strength to look at the twin, whose face was confused. It was hard to explain to himself that it wasn't Connor, because Gavin couldn't get used to the idea that there were two of them. It was a dissonance to be able to communicate calmly with a guy who looked exactly like his assailant.  
“Why should it be difficult?” not-Connor raised his eyebrows.  
Gavin couldn't keep eye contact, and his gaze slid down to the black ribbon that bound the collar of the perfectly white shirt.  
“I'm afraid of him not more than the others. So why me? Of all the new ones, why can't he just leave me alone?”  
The guy thoughtfully tilted his head to one side, then to the other. “Revenge, probably.”  
"Revenge?” screamed Gavin. “For what? I didn't do anything to him!”  
“That's what you think,” the guy shrugged. “He clearly has a different opinion on this issue. Here,” he handed Gavin a lighted cigarette, “you need it more.”  
Gavin didn't refuse. He wanted to smoke badly after crying, but he didn't have any cigarettes of his own. He still didn't know where the others got them from.  
Most-likely-Richard slapped Reed on the shoulder again, pursed his lips in pity, and gave the boy one last look before walking slowly away.  
Gavin remained standing, twirling his cigarette thoughtfully. The cigarette was obviously not cheap, and it seemed more important than the hundreds of questions that were spinning in Gavin's head.  
“Hey,” Richard stopped in the doorway, “when you finish smoking, flush it down the toilet. Don't throw it anywhere.”  
“Okay,” Gavin nodded. He was a little taken aback by this meticulousness. “But what's the difference?” he thought. Cigarette butts were scattered everywhere. Mostly they were scattered by the olders. Only they did not hesitate to smoke in front of teachers and mentors, put out their cigarettes on the soles of their shoes and threw the butts at their feet. They could afford it. One of the many privileges of olders. That’s why it was so strange that Richard still cared about such small things.  
“By the way” he tilted his head to one side and looked at Gavin with unfocused eyes, “I have a first-aid kit. And gin, if you like.”  
Reed looked up at him, confused. Did he understand correctly that this was an invitation? And could he accept it, given the circumstances? Sure, it was pretty damn cool when one of the older ones invited you to drink gin — the youngers did, too, but usually they drank cheap booze and questionable tinctures — but there was something suspicious about the invitation. Gavin couldn't answer the question of why any of the graduates, especially one of the twins, would want to take a newcomer somewhere. Private communication with olders is a special honor, like an audience with the Queen. Gavin could already imagine telling the kids in his room that Connor's brother had invited him over. He knew that just an invitation was enough to make him special. It wasn't something to refuse, but Gavin doubted it.  
“Do you have any cigarettes?” he asked quietly.  
“I have.”  
“That's good. I could use a couple of it.”  
A faint smile curved Richard's lips. He gave a slight shake of his head, inviting him to follow, but Gavin wasn't sure if it was an invitation. He wasn't sure of anything right now. Still, he followed the twin without a murmur.


End file.
